


turn ice to easy waters

by gendzl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Good Guy Kent Parson, M/M, lots of blueberry muffins and just as many disagreements about them, temporary zimbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 06:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendzl/pseuds/gendzl
Summary: Kent had done the legwork, and was prepared for almost every eventuality.Almost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. Yeah. I have no excuses. This is a fully self-indulgent True Love semi-angsty fic. You're welcome?
> 
> This'll be posted as I write it, so who knows how long it'll take. (I am the type of fic writer that causes people to sort out unfinished works, and I'm sorry for that.)
> 
> Rated Mature for language. No smut, sorry.
> 
> For the purpose of this fic, the younger (or youngest*) partner's 25th birthday is when they "switch" bodies with their soulmate. It's not actually a switch, since, for fic reasons, they're not conscious in each other's bodies at the same time. It's more of a possession. The younger person possesses the/an older person's body for 24 hours on their 25th birthday, and then the next birthday that the older partner has (no matter their age) is when _they_ swap. Assume that their soul/mind/whatever is stored safely somewhere out in the ethers and they just have a really long nap and don’t even know they missed a day until they wake up. (*Poly soulmates exist in my head but aren't relevant for this fic.)

Kent Parson only really started to move on after he woke up on his 25th birthday in his own body. He never claimed it was healthy to cling to the hope of someone he'd already lost, but neither was it healthy to wake up at 7am and proceed to get drunk off his ass, and he did that, too.

When he woke up the next morning, headache the size of Montana and sorrow (cheap tacos) roiling in his gut, Kent made a series of decisions that all aimed towards Getting His Damn Shit Together.

Number 1: Find a fucking therapist.  
Number 2: Stop fucking drinking.  
Number 3: Get a cat. He's fucking lonely.

And it…kind of worked? More than kind of. He got his damn shit together, got over Jack, and built a real life for himself where previously he'd had what his therapist referred to as a "waiting room kind of life". Which was fair, but. Rude.

In the end, Kent was 28 when it happened. He'd had a plan. It was a good plan! He'd worked with his therapist to write up different versions of his note, depending on if his soulmate woke up while Kent was at home or on a roadie. He'd written both of them in each of the three languages he knew. He'd even remembered to ask Jeff to take care of Kit the day of, so he wouldn't have to worry about some stranger doing it wrong.

He'd done the legwork, and was prepared for almost every eventuality.

Almost.

* * *

_Happy Birthday! We're gonna make it a good one._

_First, **text Jeff**. My phone passcode is 9090. He'll let work know what's happening and then pop over to get your day rolling. He'll also take care of Kit (the cat currently sleeping at your feet), no worries!_

_Your brain chemistry is now my brain chemistry, so please take 1 of the white oval pills on the nightstand. The round pink pills are for emergencies (anxiety), and if today is an emergency, that's fine. _ _I don't have any food allergies, so eat whatever. I'm also sober, which means that, for today, so are you._

_Now go text Jeff! He'll answer any questions you might have. _

_I'll call you in the morning!_

_-Kent Parson_

* * *

It is safe to say that Eric "Bitty" Bittle did not, in fact, text Jeff. Instead, he spent twenty minutes quietly panicking, screamed into a pillow, and then got in the shower to scream there, too.

In the end it didn't actually matter that he never texted, because Jeff had a key to Kent's apartment and a craving for Kent's blueberry muffins that simply would not be ignored.

When he opened the door to find Kent standing over one of the beloved muffins with crossed arms and a grimace of distaste, he knew.

It was Switch Day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeff's POV, because I apparently like to drag the impending angst out for all of us. I'll be writing Bitty's POV next, and that chapter will hopefully be up this weekend! Enjoy! :)

Jeff leaned against the wall just outside Kent's kitchen, eyeing the stranger in Kent's body as they eyed the muffins. "Uh, hey. You're not Kent."

Not-Kent snorted. "And these aren't muffins."

Jeff's stomach growled, and Not-Kent arched a brow. "Oh, were you going to eat these? Really?" The judgement practically dripped off them.

"Yes? Why wouldn't I?"

"Far be it for me to tell you what to eat," they said, and _boy_ was it weird to hear Kent's voice speaking in a light southern twang, "but that there is nothing I'd ever put in my mouth."

They paused, pressing their lips together in horror. "He used _frozen blueberries_," Not-Kent said in a near-whisper, as though there was a baking god that might hear and strike them down for simply being in the body of the man that had committed such a heinous crime against baked goods.

"So?"

"Oh, honey. No." They set the—perfectly good, damn it—lone muffin they'd been inspecting back on the platter with the rest of them and then slid the platter several inches away and said again, emphatically, _"No."_

Jeff shook his head, trying to reset his brain like an Etch-a-Sketch. "Who are you?" he asked, getting back on track.

Not-Kent stared at him in silence for a moment, and then they smirked. "I'm not saying."

Oh, great. There's two of them.

"Well, okay. I just have to make a few calls, get us both out of practice on account of the whole —" he waggled his fingers at them—"thing. Management has arrangements in place for this, so we won't have to do much other than hang out and, like, chat. Or bake, I guess, if that's what you're into."

Not-Kent stared him down from the usual 3 inches below his eye line, wearing an expression not unlike his captain's. It was surreally familiar, and it made his stomach clench uncomfortably. "Well, sweetpea, I'm afraid that just won't work."

Jeff tilted his head. Uh-oh.

Not-Kent grinned sharply. "You're not tellin' _anyone_."

Yep. He's fucked. He, personally, Jeffrey Goddamn Troy, best friend of Kent Parson, was fucked. There was no way this wouldn't end in disaster.

He was certain that the way his jaw dropped was entirely unattractive, and absolutely no part of him cared, because, "What? Dude, we can't just _not_ say anything. Kent is the captain. Of an NHL team. He's got, like, responsibilities. And he's kinda famous, so someone will definitely notice someone else pretending to be him. Especially given the fact that he, you know, _plays hockey professionally._" He reiterated the last point for good measure.

"I know all that. You think I haven't heard of Kent Parson? I've met the guy, even. I'm well aware of who he is and what he does," Not-Kent said in response, arms crossed over their chest. "I just don't particularly want some other people, who also know Kent, knowin' I'm in him right now. I've got a life, and I'm not just gonna up and leave it because I woke up on the other side of the country in the wrong fucking body."

The phrasing of that last bit could theoretically go either way, but something told Jeff that Not-Kent didn't mean they woke up in a body that wasn't their own, but rather that they had expected to wake up in the body of an entirely different person, who was not _Kent_.

Things had just gotten about ten times more complicated in the space of like, twenty seconds, and he wanted to crawl back to his apartment and bury his face in the carton of peanut butter ice cream he had hidden in the back of his freezer and just…not deal with any of it, but fuuuuuuck. He was Kent's _best friend_. This was officially (like, seriously officially, there were legal documents involved) his responsibility.

"Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah. _Oh,"_ Not-Kent snarled. They strode down the hallway and swiped Kent's keys off the hook with far more viciousness than was strictly necessary. "Let's go play some hockey."

Well this he had to see.

* * *

Practice that morning was optional, but as long as Kent had been captain, "optional" was synonymous with "mandatory", so most of the team had shown up. If any of them had noticed something off about (Not-)Kent, they weren't saying anything, but, for Jeff, who was actually paying attention, watching Not-Kent on the ice was incredibly odd. Whoever it was (Jeff had tentatively started using he/him pronouns in his head, based entirely on his knowledge of Kent) was clearly a hockey player. And a _good_ one.

The guy's playing style, from what little he'd seen, was less physical than Kent's—more focused on being fast enough to evade checks entirely (even light ones) than to power through them and wind up more bruised than a Georgia peach. Jeff privately thought that maybe Kent could learn something from his soulmate.

There were only so many lumps a man could take, you know?

This whole scenario was both a relief and a pain in Jeff's ass. He wasn't sure how long they could both keep this up, and while he wasn't about to spill the beans and ruin somebody's life/relationship without a damn good reason, things would be somewhat easier on him, personally, if this person would just fess the hell up and let him get on with what Kent had planned for their day.

But, no. Unfortunately for Jeff, whoever the hell was occupying Kent's body wasn't doing a terrible job of mimicking him. Accent, speech patterns, body language, hockey talent and all. (He tried not to be too disappointed, because this was a good thing, kinda, in the short term, probablyhopefullymaybe, but there was _definitely_ a part of him which had always hoped that, when this day came, he'd get to see 'Kent' flail around on the ice like Bambi.) Not-Kent directed the guys on the ice with an ease that could only come from experience. Lots of experience. 

Intimate, suspiciously solid knowledge of professional ice hockey was at play here. This guy was no slouch who played shinny twice a winter. He knew what he was doing and it was going to drive Jeff up a wall if he didn't figure out who he was.

At one point, Jeff had skated past Not-Kent and murmured, "You're not an NHL captain, are you?"

Not-Kent had just hooted out a laugh and passed a puck neatly up the boards without dignifying him with a response.

It was, frankly, quite impressive. Jeff spent the entire morning torn between the urge to pin the guy down until he told him who the fuck he was, and the half-amused, half-afraid desire to see how long he could keep this all up before he cracked.

He lasted the entire length of time they were out on the ice, and it was all entirely uneventful, and Jeff could only watch with a vague sense of awe when, after everybody else had left, Not-Kent collapsed on the bench in the locker rooms, visibly exhausted—a fact that he'd managed to completely hide in front of any of the guys.

It was terrifying.

"Lunch?" Jeff asked, standing over him.

He groaned and threw an arm over his/Kent's face. "Yes, but first I must die."

"If you died, Kent would kill me."

Not-Kent looked over at Jeff appraisingly, and then huffed. "I suppose that would be a bit of a loss to the team. I'll live, but only because I need y'all to survive long enough to get crushed in the playoffs."

"Uh, rude!" He kicked out at the guy's shin half-heartedly. "Come on, I'll take you to Kent's favorite diner." He was determined to salvage as much of Kent's plan for the day as possible.

Not-Kent heaved himself up and looped Kent's gear bag over his shoulder like he'd been doing it all his life. "If his taste in diners is anything like his taste in muffins, I'm not sure I wanna go," he said, but he made his way towards the door as he said it, so the hunger must have won out.

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "Seriously, dude, let it go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutout to Julorean, who graciously let me use their idea to plop Bitty on the ice as Kent (because that's genius, and I was going to take the easy way out because HOCKEY? WHO'S SHE?)
> 
> I hope it panned out okay, and isn't immediately obvious that I know nothing about anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six months between updates, huh? How about that! I'm posting two chapters today as an apology lol.

When Jeff glanced at him over the top of the giant menu for the third time since they'd sat down, Bitty gave up on pretending not to notice. "What."

Jeff set the menu down. "I've been calling you Not-Kent in my head. I can't even get a first name? Really? A nickname? You play hockey; you've gotta have a nickname. _Give it to me."_

Bitty sighed. Jeff was a good guy, really. He wasn't sure he'd have gone along with a harebrained plan like this if _he_ was someone's Switch Day ambassador. He could throw him a bone.

But before he could speak, Jeff added, "Also, where did you meet him? Have I met you, too? Do I know who you are?!"

Ooookay, the guy was starting to freak out. Bitty could not deal with this, not on top of his own panic.

"Calm the hell down," he said sternly. It came out in what he assumed was Kent's Captain Voice, because Jeff startled and sat back obediently. "You can call me Richard," he said, fairly certain that he'd remember to respond to that.

"Richard. Okay. Nice to meet you," Jeff said, somewhat higher-pitched than previously.

Bitty tensed. "I didn't just out Kent, did I?"

Jeff started to fiddle with the wrapper from his straw, shredding it into confetti. "Not…exactly? He's never come right out and said it while sober, but he made his appreciation for guys very clear in the past. I've known he's gay for a long time."

Bitty relaxed back into his seat. "Okay, good."

"Yeah."

"What else would Kent normally do today?"

"Oh! Uh," Jeff paused, and then started listing things off on his fingers. "Practice, check. Food, check. Next we usually go to our own places and nap. Kent hangs out with Kit and updates her Instagram account, maybe does some grocery shopping or reading or whatever. We meet back up for dinner most nights because otherwise we both eat things that piss off our nutritionist. Hashtag accountability."

Despite the pounding hum of misery behind his forehead, Bitty found himself smiling.

"Okay, I think we can do that. I just have to get through the rest of the day, right? I can deal with the rest of it once I'm—once I'm back where I, uh, belong." He winced. There went the burgeoning good mood.

* * *

Kit, despite clearly sensing that something was up with her owner, tolerated a short series of selfies with Bitty, eyeing each other over a blueberry muffin. She then went to sleep in a genuine wicker basket set strategically in line with a patch of sunlight, and providing him with more than enough material to sift through for Instagram. He scrolled through @PrincessKitty's posts trying to get a sense of the tone and wound up feeling a mixture of awed and apprehensive. Kent _really_ loved this cat.

In the end, he posted the photos with nothing more than a series of semi-comprehensible emojis, and then went and spent the next few hours in Kent's guest room, thinking himself in sad, depressing circles.

* * *

"I don't think I'm going to leave Kent a note," Bitty said.

Jeff simply looked up from his massive serving of lasagna and nodded. "I figured."

"What, you're not gonna fight me on it?"

"I don't believe that the universe would stick Kent with a soulmate who doesn't take his feelings into account. You're his _soulmate_." He swiped a piece of garlic bread through the sauce gathered at the edge of his plate and added, "You'll do the right thing eventually. You can't not."

Damn him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted two chapters today! Make sure you read chapter 3 first :)

Bitty woke up in his own body, in the bed he shared with Jack, and he'd no sooner opened his eyes than he found himself wrapped securely in Jack's arms.

He pulled away after a moment, trying (and failing) to collect himself as everything hit him at once.

Jack's eyes were sadder than he ever wanted to see them when he asked, "Do you want to tell me who it is?"

Bitty dashed a few tears off his cheeks, angry at himself and irrationally angry at the rest of the world. Some small part of him was even angry at _Jack_. "I want to pretend it didn't happen."

* * *

He'd been so sure it was going to be Jack.

They'd _all_ been sure. There had been all sorts of jokes at his pre-birthday party the night before the Switch, everyone amused by the prospect of what was sure to be 24 hours of Bitty-as-Jack entertainment. A couple of their friends (Ransom and Holster) had even made a list of things they wanted to film Bitty-as-Jack doing. They'd planned on bribing him for each one with gourmet pie ingredients, which would never have worked because Bitty was a grown man with a real job and he wasn't a broke, desperate college student anymore.

(It totally would have worked.)

But he hadn't woken up beside his own body, unnaturally prone beneath the sheets. Jack had.

Jack had to deal with everyone showing up for Bitty's birthday breakfast with shit-eating grins on their faces, expecting to see him-but-not-him making French toast in Bitty's favorite apron.

Jack had to spend the whole day worrying about where Bitty was, because Bitty had been so wrapped up in his own shock and misery that he hadn't thought to borrow a phone (any phone but Kent's) and let him know that he was safe.

* * *

**@KVP:** So I wake up this morning, right? Except it's not Tuesday like I expect. It's Wednesday. My soulmate had just turned 25.

**@KVP:** I talk to Jeff, my bff and Switch Day ambassador, who informs me that my soulmate is as stubborn as I am, and refused to cooperate. He went on with his day the same way I normally would have. Which, okay.

**@KVP:** I am d e s p e r a t e for answers here, but I'm mostly just freaking out because he was so convincing as "me" that LITERALLY NOBODY NOTICED.

**@KVP:** Anybody watching the Aces practice yesterday was actually watching my soulmate. That muffin selfie of me and Kit? Not actually me! (Why a muffin??)

**@KVP:** I'm torn between being impressed by his acting skills, terrified about his potential reasoning, and scandalized that I'm so transparent someone can impersonate me that well on absolutely no notice.

**@KVP:** AND, he didn't leave me a note. Like I said, stubborn. I feel like Prince Charming about to embark on the hunt for his Cinderfella.

**@KVP:** Oh, shit. Yeah. Surprise, I'm gay!

* * *

**Holster:** I know it's considered a Betrayal of the highest order in this former hockey team of ours for anyone to follow Kenny V Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces on social media, but. I follow Kenny V Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces on social media.

**Holster:** MOVING QUICKLY PAST THAT, I would just like to point out a few salient facts.

**Holster:** 1) Yesterday was Bitty's 25th birthday.  
2) He Switched, but  
3) he didn't wake up in Jack's body :/  
4) Kenny V Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces came out on twitter this morning,  
5) after telling everyone that yesterday was, apparently, his soulmate's Switch day.

**Holster:** I've connected the two dots.

**Ransom:** You didn't connect shit.

**Holster:** I've connected them.


End file.
